


Feel No Pain

by LoversAntiquities



Series: Codas [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Asphyxiation, Barebacking, Coda, Episode: s09e16 Blade Runners, Impala Sex, M/M, mild bloodplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-20
Updated: 2014-03-20
Packaged: 2018-01-16 10:00:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1343377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoversAntiquities/pseuds/LoversAntiquities
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A "Blade Runners" coda.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feel No Pain

‘ _Be Afraid – Your Queen_.’

So it was written. Or, more like _engraved_ into the Tuxedo Black exterior of his baby. It might as well have torched into his _kidneys_ –he didn't know which one would have hurt less. Parked alongside a long-since used dirt path outside Lebanon, he tried every trick in his immediate disposal to at least _lessen_ the visible damage. Nothing worked. The image of the symbols was ingrained into his memory, much like every other scrape or dent that had ever taken place.

Those had all been popped out and repainted; the emotional damage had been minimal. This was _sacrilege_. And some depraved, degenerate _bastard_ had done it solely to deliver a message –and not even to _him_! Trying to make a point was one thing, but this, _this_ could have been done _anywhere_ else. In the dirt, on a tree, not on the side of a car. _His baby_.

Did her or her cohorts even know how much paint _costs_ on vehicles that age? Maybe the garage had something to deal with demonic keying. Or regular keying, just _some_ way to get the _damn_ thing out of his sight. Maybe once the residual anger wore off, he would bother heading back to the bunker. He dropped off Sam six hours ago, claiming he had to either clear his head or _something_ was getting hurt. No use in damaging whatever semblance of a relationship they had left. And driving always did his mind better than sitting and stewing, anyway.

Unfortunately five of those hours were spent seated beside the Impala glaring holes into the siding, willing it to fix itself. The last thirty minutes alternated between that and the hollow thunks of his forehead into the scratches –it didn't work, but it certainly made his head feel better. He swore, the _minute_ he got his hands around that _bitches_ throat…

The further the bright blue of the sky progressed to the darkness of night, the whiter the lines became, glowing at him. _Mocking_ him. The corner of his lips curled –that was all the warning he got before his fist collided with metal, pure force leaving a dent in the passenger door that _shouldn't_ have been possible. Based on the radius, the impact should have left him with broken fingers –instead, he felt nothing. Just an incessant, radiating burn. Great, now _that_ needed a good hammer job. What _else_ could break? Maybe the engine could burn out and leave him stranded –maybe a tire could go. Perhaps a meteorite as well.

 _Just my luck_.

Another three bangs of his forehead and he sighed in final defeat. There was no use wallowing in his own pity out in the middle of nowhere. He had a bedroom for that, shelves stocked with aged scotches and whiskeys, enough to knock him out for a night at best. Maybe two if he _really_ tried. Tonight was one of those nights he had no intentions of waking up from, no plans on facing the day ahead. It wasn’t a breaking point, but it was getting _temptingly_ close.

A final thud drowned out the sound of a car coming to a slow stop in the distance, groaning engine giving way to the stillness of the Kansas night. The slamming of a door jarred him from thoughts –every nerve in his already wired body lit up in apprehension, already expecting the worst. They were back for him; they _knew_ he would end up back there, reveling in his own misery long enough to have his back turned. And he didn't even have the _blade_ to defend himself.

Head jerked towards the origin of the noise, his heart plummeted into his shoes at the sight – _well_ , better than Abaddon, he supposed. “Don’t you have somewhere _better_ to be?” Dean spat, turning back to the Impala with a fatigued sigh. He didn't have _time_ to deal with _him_ of all people.

“Not particularly.” So nonchalant, _really_. Hands shoved deep in overcoat pockets, Castiel watched him curiously, eyebrows furrowed in worry. “Your prayers are too loud to go unnoticed.”

“Yeah, well, I never prayed to you. So there.” Another thump. Even from a distance, he _knew_ what face the Angel was pulling –somewhere between dumbfounded and enraged, he bet. Perpetual confusion. “What’re you even _doing_ out here, anyway?”

Castiel let out a sigh, and he could have _sworn_ he saw him shrug, however minutely it was. “I was driving through towards Tennessee. Is there any reason as to why you’re— _oh_.”

“Yeah, _oh_.”

The Angel rounded the car to stand at his back, eyes scanning the inscriptions with that _stupid_ head tilt. It shouldn't have annoyed him as much as it did –just his presence accomplished that on its own. “Who did this?”

“Does it matter?” His voice came out as a low growl as he pushed himself out of the dirt, joints groaning the entire way; maybe he shouldn't have sat there for so long. Everything protested; a twinge ran up his spine. “Y’don’t just _key_ Baby to say stupid shit, you say it to their _face_! Y’can’t just… do that!”

Turning, he spotted Castiel’s narrowed gaze. “…This isn’t about the car, is it, Dean?”

“Of course it’s about the _car_ ,” he huffed. “It’s _always_ about the _damn_ car, like that has anything to do with this! It’s not like my entire _life’s_ gone to Hell or anything, it’s not like my own _brother’s_ thrown whatever it is we have down the shitter. It’s not like this damn _Mark_ on my arm is trying to _kill_ me. No, it’s the _car_ that I have a problem with!”

His impassiveness was unnerving –had he even moved? Had he even heard a _word_ of what he said? “What Mark?”

 _Shit_. He was bound to find out someday. That day was coming sooner than he expected. “It’s nothin’, Cas.”

A hand drifted softly over his forearm –he jerked away at first contact, backing into the vehicle in an attempt to escape. Why did it _hurt_? “Show it to me.”

“It’s _nothing_ , back off.”

“ _Dean_.”

Something about that voice was compelling –he had never really figured out _why_ he yielded nearly every time something was asked of him, just from the sound alone. Now was no different. With tightened jaw, he stripped himself of his jacket and threw it onto the roof, proceeding to roll up his right sleeve, bearing to the Angel his burden.

Said Angel said _nothing_. Just stared, wearily, taking cautious steps in his direction until he stood mere inches away, softly padded fingers trailing over the scorched, abused skin. He hissed –now _that_ burned. “What was the purpose behind doing this to yourself?” His voice was low, possibly fearing to be heard. _Never_ had Dean heard him become so sheepish.

“What, you don’t wanna know _where_ I got it?” he scowled.

Castiel appeared completely content to keep up his ministrations, a cold thumb swiping over sensitive skin. It did nothing to quell the residual ache, but he still felt himself falling into the touch. “I’m not an imbecile, Dean. What I want to know is,” he lifted his eyes, scorn showing in ocean blue, “why?”

“To kill Abaddon.” He lowered his gaze, looking _anywhere_ but at Castiel. “After that, I’m done.”

“It won’t be that easy,” Castiel replied, finally releasing his touch and letting Dean’s arm fall. “Do you understand the conn—.”

“I _know_ what it means, Cas! I know what it’s gonna do to me, I…” He shuddered, freeing himself from the proximity to head near the engine, long since chilled by the night. “I can’t go back now.”

“You need to listen to me.” Castiel trailed close, practically cornering him near the grill. Dean sat on the hood. Waited. “Under no circumstances can you allow it to influence you. There’s a reason Cain became who he was, behaved how he did, and it was because of _that_.” With intent, he jabbed the brand with a blunt fingernail, a jolt bolting up his arm and bowing his neck. “You can’t let yourself become what he embraced.”

He swallowed roughly, choking back a laugh. “You say it like it’s so easy.” A shake of the head. “And what if I _can’t_ , huh? What ‘f this is really who I am? What I was _meant_ to be? Jesus, Cas, do you even know what I did today?”

“I wasn’t th—.”

“Do you know what I _did_?!” His voice came as more of a shout, the initial shock forcing down Castiel’s ever-present guard. “This… _dick_ forced that damn blade on me, tried to put me in his own personal zoo, and I _killed him_. And you know what? I _liked_ it.” With shaking hands he scrubbed his face, looking disdainfully at the moon high above. “And then I looked at Sammy, and all I saw was _red_. I wanted to… I almost _did_ , man. I mean, what if that happens to you?” He moved within a inch of him, lips twitching into a scowl. “What if I did that to you?!”

Admittedly, he wasn't expecting Castiel to _punch_ him. Flat on his ass, in fact. Sprawled out in the dirt, the Angel reached down to pull him up by his collar, slamming him back into the side of the Impala. Blood trickled from a split lip. “You’re forgetting who I am, and who _you_ are, Dean Winchester. Do you think of yourself so little that you’re just willing to give in? That’s not _you_.”

“Yeah? And how would you know?” he snapped. “You haven’t stuck around long enough to really _find out_. Seems like every time you come around, you fu—.”

“You brought that on yourself when you _kicked_ me _out_.” Now he was touching a nerve.

“I was doing what I had to d—.”

“You didn’t _have_ to do anything!” Castiel shoved him further into the glass, arm shoved across his chest. “You could have told me from the beginning, but you only made it harder on yourself. On everyone else around you. Do you honestly _believe_ you deserve what you put yourself through?”

“I’ve told you before, Cas. I’m p—.”

“Don’t—,” he clasped a hand over his mouth, “—say those words to me. You know as well as anyone that you’re _not_. But you belittle yourself to the point where you believe you are _nothing_. You believe you need this mark to defeat Abaddon, but you put no forethought into what it would _cost_ you. You will _become_ nothing if you let yourself fall. Is that what you want?” Nothing. He removed his hand. “Is that what you _want_?!”

 _I don’t wanna die. I don’t wanna lose you._ “I don’t know.”

“Well I suggest you find out. Because I didn't do what I _did_ to have you ‘not know.’”

Silence.

“…You’re scared.” Castiel’s eyes widened. “You’re scared of what it’ll do to me. What it’s _doing_ to me.”

Castiel refused to reply, instead pulling himself away and, refusing to meet his stare again, heading towards the Continental. “We’re done here.”

“Cas—.” Walking. “ _Castiel_!”

This time when the Angel threw a punch, he at least had sense to duck. Though, the second hit caught him off guard, throwing him flat onto the hood, head colliding _hard_. Castiel crowded his vision, hands pinning his wrists to the cool metal, slacks meeting denim all before he could realize what had transpired. “You underestimate me, _boy_. I know more about this than you ever will. And to accuse me of being—.”

“You are.” The grip on his wrists tightened, threatening to cut off circulation at a moment’s notice. All he had to do was squeeze, dig his nails in. Make him _bleed_. “You’re right. I should’ve thought about it, I should’ve asked you first, but I _didn’t._ I need to finish this. You have to _let_ me.”

Castiel still watched him cautiously, eyes boring holes into his skin, probably searching his soul for the truth. For his real intent. He didn't find it there –he found it in the rough collision of lips and teeth, one hand buried into the Mark, the other pulling his hair by the root. It might as well have been provocation – Dean threw a leg around Castiel’s hip, knocking him off balance and pulling him even closer, one knee pressed into the hood.

So _this_ was how it was going to be. Nothing about their movements were gentle –their existence was mingled in the rough touch of fabric-clad skin, mouths looking to make a claim on whatever they could touch, nails drawing ragged trails as they dragged along exposed flesh. His lip, in its vain attempt at healing, split again, the Angel biting and toying with red-drenched skin before licking back into his mouth with absolute _intent_. The very thought got him off at the best of times –the real thing had him choking back moans, _pleas_ for it to never stop.

Blood was smeared across their lips by the time Castiel managed to pull himself away, albeit briefly. The position was awkward and taxing on his back –before he could even get the thought past his lips, the Angel pulled him to his feet and shoved him into the drivers side door, hoisting him up by his hips before bringing their mouths together again. Grunting pleas escaped his lips with every drag of their growing arousal, Dean’s hands carding roughly through hair, Castiel’s lips sucking purpling bruises into the skin along his collarbone.

“You’re not exactly proving your point here,” Dean managed to pant, earning an exceptionally hard thrust that had him throwing his head back in ecstasy. “C-Cas, you gotta—.”

“Shut _up_ , Dean.” Thumb pressed to his windpipe, Dean clutched hard at the trench coat over the Angel’s shoulders, searching for purpose in those eyes. Directive. All he found were lust-blown pupils and an Angel of the fucking _Lord_ grinding into him like his very _life_ depended on it. “And let me do this.”

He jammed a heel into the back of Castiel’s thigh, goading, “you’re not doing _this_ very well, then.”

An even harder shove –the Impala groaned with the added strain. If he didn't stop _soon_ –. “We can’t do this here.”

“Cas, I swear to _God_ if you stop _now_ —.”

“You’ll swear to no one but _me_.” And if _that_ wasn’t the hottest thing he had ever heard. “Backseat, _now_.”

He wasn’t going to argue with that. His legs wobbled once he hit the ground, shaking hands reaching for the passenger-side handle.

Castiel wasted no time in shoving him inside, his head nearly colliding with the opposite panel from sheer force. Door slammed closed, he was on Dean again, struggling haphazardly to get him out of his overshirt and whatever other clothing he could reach. “You gotta—slow down—,” he managed between kisses. “You gotta—.”

“ _Shut up_.” So he did, allowing the Angel to manhandle him out of his clothing, both shirts thrown into the front seat absently. His belt followed, fly yanked open with no hesitance. This was _really happening_. And even with the last tinges of strength coursing through him, he couldn't fight him off, instead allowing the remainder of his clothes to be stripped from him, leaving him bare and exposed in the backseat of his own car.

That feeling was _exacerbated_ by Castiel grabbing his knees and shoving his legs open, leaving _nothing_ in the way of him swallowing down his cock in one go. _That_ time, he actually did smack his head on the armrest, practically squealing from shock. Now _where_ had he learned _that_? The Angel had no qualms about the noises he made, each drag accompanying the wet sounds of skin on skin, or a half suppressed moan that resonated through him. There was _no_ right, it being as hot as it was.

Fingers buried in dark hard, Dean chewed his split lip with a whimper. Heat pooled low in his gut, drawing him closer to precipice with each passing second, until – “Mother fu—!” Castiel pulled off with a loud pop, precum and saliva smeared across the lewd smile his lips made. Dean collapsed into the bench seat, fingers clutching his thigh, the leather of the headrest, _anything_ to bring himself down. So _close_. “Cas—!”

A peck to his lips, and Castiel was smirking, hand trailing down to stroke along his shaft, thumb smearing pearls across his handiwork. Instinctively, he attempted to buck into the touch –a knee to his thigh held him down. “Look at you,” he mumbled against his cheek, licking a path to his ear. “You want me to fuck you?”

“ _God_ , yes.” Castiel sucked another mark behind his ear, Dean writhing into every touch that was provided to him –he couldn't take it, and _damn_ the bastard that knew how to take him apart. “Lubes in the –in my bag, trunk.”

And Castiel _left him_ , vacating the back seat and going to pop the trunk like it was the most normal thing in the world. Like there _wasn't_ a tent of an erection in the front of his pants. He took his sweet time too; by the time he returned with all doors shut, the Angel had removed his coat and jacket and tossed it onto the roof to mingle with his own, sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up to the elbows. He was _serious_ –a wave of nervous anticipation ran across his skin.

“Look at how pink you are,” the Angel commented, once again prying his legs open and leaning over his form.

A string of kisses distracted him from the first lube-slicked finger pushing in roughly, pressing raptly against his prostate and nearly sending him upright. “F-Fuck, Cas!” he shouted in ardor. Back threatening to arch, Castiel held him down at his stomach, attentive eyes watching his own fingers slide, _jerk_ into him repeatedly until a fourth had him strung tight, threatening to shatter him apart.

And only _then_ did he let up, deft fingers removed to unbutton his shirt, leaving Dean to clench around empty air. “You’re an _ass_ ,” he groaned.

Castiel, shirt now thrown to the floorboards, lifted Dean’s left leg at the knee, hauling it up to the headrest with no shame. With a final kiss, he heard the faintness of a zipper opening and a firm press against his hole. “I care for you too much to let you do what you do.”

He didn't have time to retort –the Angel bottomed out in one thrust, giving him absolutely no warning before he set his rhythm. Hard, brutal, enough to send his teeth rattling with each slam to his prostate, again, again, _again._ His own moans echoed off the windows, a faint blush creeping over his cheeks at the sound, at the fact that _he_ was making those noises, louder than ever before. His leg slipped to rest around Castiel’s still-clothed waist, the other hitting the floorboard, bare toes curling into the mats. All the while, Castiel sang praises of his name into his ear, hand covering the brand, now burning hotter than he thought he could handle.

Somewhere between the rhythmic sounds of sex and their own labored breathing, he lost track of where his partner’s other hand was traveling. He found it, shifting from its hold on the absent print on his left shoulder to press over his throat –enough to startle but not enough to choke. “Do it,” he hissed, taking hold of his wrist and squeezing tight. Green eyes watched barely blue until he couldn't bear to look, to see the desire, the _want_ there. “ _Fuckin’ do it_.”

He did –the closer he got, the more ragged his moans became, the tighter Castiel grasped his throat until black lined his vision and stray tears spilled into his hairline. _This_ was what he needed. A moment to forget, to lose himself in pleasure, to fall into the touch of another. Someone who _cared_ , in his own way. The admission had never been spoken –it was always sitting in the wings, waiting for the final push. And to his dying day, he vowed never to tell the words the Angel spoke in his ear that night, the feelings returned with a breathless kiss and a gasp before his vision blurred and he came with enough force to drag his friend –his _lover—_ along with him.

Minutes passed before either recovered enough sanity to break away, Castiel pulling out with a wince before collapsing into Dean’s arms. Words weren’t needed; nothing could have been said that would have changed anything. Content, Dean pulled himself to his side and wrapped his arms around his waist, breathing in the scent that was purely _Castiel_. “My car’s a mess.”

“I’m sure you can fix that,” he replied, kissing along his jaw before settling his head against chest. “I want you to remember what I said, Dean. I want you to know that I’m _here_ —.”

“I know you are,” Dean sighed, running a hand through sweat-matted hair. “…But I have to do this. I can’t just back out now.”

Slipping a bit from his hold, Castiel shifted to place a kiss on the mark, warm against kiss-swollen lips. “I’ll help you. In any way I can. But you have to _listen_ to me.”

“I know, Cas,” he sighed. “ _I know_.”

 

 

_There's nothing sacred_  
_Breathing hatred_  
_We have to face it_  
_No one can take it (how can they take that much)_  
_And feel no pain_

_Oh, did you ever see a man break down_

**Author's Note:**

> Title and lyrics from the song "Feel No Pain" by Sade.
> 
> I'm on [tumblr](http://tragidean.tumblr.com) and [twitter](http://twitter.com/loversantiquity).


End file.
